Fragments
by Aussie-Muggle
Summary: Fragments from the lives of different characters.
1. Grief

Ginny was ready to face Voldemort's legions.

Her brother's death had filled her with burning anger and steel resolve. She stood by Ron and Hermione, ready to die fighting anything that her old enemy, Tom Riddle, threw at her.

The first thing she noticed was Hagrid. She knew instantly that Voldemort had him under the imperious curse. There was no way that Hagrid would willingly walk beside him. The half-giant was shaking uncontrollably… and holding a limp figure in his arms.

A limp figure with messy black hair and round glasses.

Ginny felt McGonagall's despair before she heard it. Then Hermione and Ron screamed Harry's across no man's land.

"Harry…" she whispered. "Get up."

She willed Harry to pick up his wand and keep fighting like he always had. He did not move.

"HARRY!" she screamed.

Her voice did nothing to revive him. Realisation slowly began to dawn on Ginny… _he was not just unconscious…_

She was the little girl in the Chamber of Secrets again; lost and afraid. She slumped forward, her world spinning. Tom Riddle had defeated her once more.

Slim, delicate fingers caught her shoulders and held her tightly. Ginny clung back, grateful for any comfort she could receive. She expected to see Hermione beside her but her friend was holding onto her brother like a lifeline. The girl comforting Ginny cried too… but her tears were also for another.

Any dislike Ginny felt for Cho Chang vanished on the spot.


	2. Ingenious

"Mudblood," sneered Bellatrix.

Ted Tonks should have been used to it by now. The Slytherins had been calling him _mudblood _for years but somehow it still made his blood boil.

Ted was stuck by an idea…. a truly brilliant, Gryffindor idea that was most probably going to get him hexed into oblivion. He looked the smug seventh year in the eye and grinned.

"I love it when you call me mudblood."

Whatever reaction Bellatrix expected, it certainly wasn't that. Words escaped her for the moment. Andromeda, who had been ignoring the exchange until that moment, looked up from her homework and raised her eyebrows.

"_What?"_ hissed Bellatrix when she finally found her voice.

Ted put on his best charming Gryffindor daredevil face. Bellatrix backed away.

"Honestly Bella… I'm kind of turned on by it."

All the colour drained out of Bellatrix's face. Ted's smirk widened. Even if she killed him now… it was totally worth just it to see the look of sheer horror on her face.

Bellatrix was too disgusted to hex him apparently. She stalked back to the dungeons. Andromeda followed her, casting a bemused look in Ted's direction before she left.

Bellatrix never called Ted Tonks a mudblood to his face again.

* * *

Ted was walking to Transfiguration with Marlene McKinnon when he heard it.

"Hello Mudblood."

He turned around and found Andromeda smiling slyly at him. She left before he could respond.

"Slytherin bitch," said Marlene darkly. "Ted, are you alright?"

Ted didn't answer. He looked in the direction Andromeda had left and laughed sheepishly.


	3. Trinket

Lord Godric of the Moorlands and Lady Rowena, wife of Lord Ravenclaw, had known each other of old. Since childhood they had engaged in a playful battle of words which Rowena almost always won.

"You are by far the most beautiful woman in the province, Lady Rowena," said Godric one afternoon. "Why do you insist on wearing that _ridiculous_ trinket?"

Helga seldom wore finery. Salazar only wore a ring bearing his family crest. Lady Rowena however, would not be seen without her diadem on her dark curls. It was more suited for a feast than a school for peasants. She did not even look up from her needlework when she gave her response.

"And why do you, Lord Godric, insist upon wearing that hideous hat?" she asked, completely unfazed.

"Because I can pretend to have a fantastic singing voice," said Godric. "You didn't answer my question."

"All the powers of observation in one truly amazing nobleman," said Rowena dryly. "Your kin must be so proud."

Godric scowled. She smiled slightly as she continued to sew.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to abuse your fellow nobles such?" said Godric crossly.

Rowena looked up from her sewing and pretended to think about it.

"No," she said finally. "Not once."

She returned to her needlework and said nothing more. Godric would not be deterred.

"The villagers are under the impression that your diadem is the source of your boundless wisdom," he said carefully.

Rowena's slight frown betrayed her impatience.

"And what is your opinion, Lord Godric?" she asked in a tone that suggested she couldn't care less.

"You can still best me in wizard's chess without it."

Rowena abandoned her sewing and gave her friend a mildly disgusted look.

"_Anyone_ can beat you in wizard's chess," she scoffed. "You have neither Salazar's shrewdness nor Helga patience… you don't _think _in battle."

Godric looked offended. He turned to leave when he heard Rowena speak again.

"It is a silly trinket, Lord Godric," she said quietly. "Nothing more."

Godric observed his friend. She sat perfectly poised, back straight, features impassive and hands neatly folded; the posture of a Lady. Her feelings were unfathomable… to all but Godric.

"Why pretend otherwise?" he asked. "Why make yourself _less_ than you truly are?"

"This diadem belonged to someone else once," said Rowena softly. "She was a noblewoman from Glen who made a significant breakthrough in the field of alchemy."

Her mask slipped for a moment and Godric momentarily saw something that resembled great pain.

"Her husband… took her wand and handed her over to the muggles to be burnt."

Godric paled. Such an unchivalrous way for a nobleman to act. Cruel by any man's standards.

"Wit beyond measure is a _man's_ greatest treasure," said Rowena, picking up her sewing again. "That is why it is wise… to wear a ridiculous trinket and pretend it makes me clever."


	4. Lake

Malfoy made it to the Lake without anyone noticing. McGonagall would skin him alive if she found him outside at this time of night. Throwing money at various charities and fundraisers had kept the Malfoys out of Azkaban. McGonagal was practically forced to let him return to school at by the Ministry of Magic.

She did not trust him however. None of them did. McGonagall had taken Malfoy aside on the first day of school and made it perfectly clear that if he broke a single school rule, neglected to hand in one piece of homework or so much as thought the word Mudblood in Granger's direction… she'd throw him out on his ear.

But he still took the occasional night walk. Malfoy hadn't had a decent nights sleep in about two years and he had nothing better to do.

At least that's what he told himself.

The walk to the Lake was hardly a pleasant one during the day. You could see the damage inflicted on the castle by the Death Eaters, the sections of missing wall, the scorch marks…

At night only the Lake was visible. A still, glass mirror… reflecting the night's sky. He had gone to the Lake every night for the past few months but tonight was different.

"Voldemort," said Malfoy quietly.

Nothing happened. No Death Eaters swarmed around him. He wasn't struck by a bolt of lightening. The ground didn't open and swallow him up. His Aunt didn't come back from the dead to torture him into madness.

Nothing.

"Voldemort!" he said a little louder.

Still... nothing. The giant squid didn't even rise up out of the Lake to drag Malfoy to his watery death.

Malfoy began to laugh. He hadn't felt this happy in years. He ran to the edge of the Lake and let insults fly.

"_Voldemort_!" he bellowed. "_You epic failure!_ Potter made you scream like a _girl_! VOLDEMORT! _Neville-bloody-Longbottom_ of all the blood traitor scum got the giant bloody worm of yours! You were defeated by _love… _you colossal _pansy_ of a dark wizard! VOLDE-"

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy froze. He slowly turned around and found Hermione Granger standing there with her eyebrows raised. The Head Girl badge on her robes glinted. Malfoy found himself turning red. _Oh crap... _

He steeled himself for his impending expulsion but Hermione only smirked.

"Get to bed, Malfoy," she said smugly. "Before McGonagall turns you into a throw rug."

Hermione turned on her heel and left. Malfoy waited before she was a good distance away before scowling.

"_Get to bed, Malfoy,_" he mimicked in a somewhat exaggerated and nasally version of Hermione's know it all voice.

He then grudgingly set off in the direction of the castle, muttering darkly as he walked.


	5. Exsanguination

Severus Snape always felt that he would die in the Shrieking Shack. Ever since James Potter dragged him away from the clutches of the werewolf, he knew it would end there. It called to him_…beckoning him home._

Snape had pictured a glorious battle against half a dozen Death Eaters. He imagined the wizarding world praising him for his unfailing loyalty and outstanding courage.

Exsanguination and solitude wasn't what he wanted.

As Snape desperately tried to stem the flow of his own blood, the small part of his brain still capable of appreciating dark humour noted the Dark Lord never guessed where his loyalties truly lay. It didn't stop Voldemort unleashing his giant snake on him.

Snape was just that fucking_ lucky_.

Something was moving in the shadows. Snape fervently hoped that it wasn't Nagini, back for seconds. It probably was Nagini… considering how "_lucky_" Snape was.

Snape's vision was blurring… his hands felt numb. The figure was not Nagini but Snape couldn't make it out. Draco Malfoy perhaps… sent to finish him off. The dark irony of the world never ceased to amaze him.

No… not Draco Malfoy.

He knew those eyes. No amount of blood loss could change that. He knew what he had to do. He knew Potter would do what was necessary… brainless Gryffindor that he was.

Finally… some luck at last.


	6. Darkness

_Come to me…_

Come to me, Serpent Tongue…come to me in my world of eternal night and set me against your enemies.

_Let me rip you… tear you… _you who dwell in the warmth.

I long for light… for warmth. How I envy you… even as you meet my deadly gaze…even as your limbs refuse to move… even as you heart ceases to force your warm blood around your weak, scaleless flesh… How I envy you… warmed by the golden sun.

I smell… grass… trees… creatures of the forest… _I smell…I smell blood!_

_Come to me…_

Forever damp…cold…starving… must sleep…_sleep… _sleep until Serpent Tongue bids my frozen blood to run again… _sleep…_

Let me out of my stony prison, Serpent Tongue. Let me out of the shadows… this world of perpetual night… this damn enclosure.

I shall kill for you.


	7. Traitor

The teachers toasted victory in the Headmistress' office, but the Headmistress herself was absent. Slughorn knew where she would be.

He went down the empty classroom, where they were keeping the bodies of students. Minerva was there, stiff and tall as always, but with an expression of sheer exhaustion on her face.

Her eyes were fixed on the body of Colin Creevey.

Slughorn paled. McGonagall had lied to keep that boy in school. She had pretended to be his pureblood grandmother and had personally seen that his parents were well hidden and safe. He knew what guilt felt like. How it ate at your insides until you felt hollow and worthless. He did not want that for McGonagall.

"I wanted to thank you, Minerva," he said.

"What for?" she asked bitterly.

This classroom was not the place for a conversation or for McGonagall. She needed sunlight and rest… but was too proud to ask for it.

_Too much like a Slytherin, _thought Slughorn. _She should have been in my House._

Slughorn took McGonagall's shoulders and firmly led her out of the classroom. Such behaviour normally would have earned him a reproachful glare but she seemed too tired to protest.

When they were safely outside the battered castle, they both instinctively headed towards the Lake. It was the only part of the school that had remained untouched… untarnished and beautiful.

"Thank you," continued Slughorn, "for saving my students… in particular I think… from a fate worse than death."

There was long pause. They stared into the boundless blue depths in silence.

"Are they alright?" asked McGonagall finally.

Slughorn bowed his head. They were not alright. They seemed to have lost as much as any Gryffindor in the thick of battle.

"Theodore grieves for his father," he said quietly. "Draco…"

Slughorn trailed off. The image of the worn, pale faced boy frequently haunted him. It reminded him too much of Severus.

"He… he will be better in time," murmured Slughorn, more hopeful than certain. "Riddle almost destroyed him."

There was silence again. The giant squid swam lazily near the surface, creating intricate ripples. It really was a beautiful day… considering.

"I saw a few Slytherin students fighting for our side," said McGonagall. "I thought they all left with you."

Slughorn heard the apology hidden in her words. _I'm sorry I didn't trust you, _her eyes said.

"They figured… since the battle was mainly led by Gryffindors… that you would not think to call reinforcements. They thought you required additional assistance… and requested I take them back with me," said Slughorn, with a small smile. "I will not repeat Mr. Blaise's exact words… otherwise you might give him detention."

McGonagall almost laughed. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face but was replaced by lifelessness. It would be like that for some time.

It was getting cooler now. Usually by now, classes would be over for the day and the teachers would have some precious spare time to themselves.

"Why did you come back, Horus?" asked McGonagall softly.

Slughorn had asked himself the same question several times. A few answers had come to him but not one he wished to divulge just yet. He gave her his best, utterly unfathomable, Slytherin smile before answering.

"For entirely selfish reasons, I assure you."

"Still… you're a blood traitor now," said McGonagall. "One of us."

She had spoken seriously… but there was a glint in her eye that told Slughorn she was teasing him. He had seen it on rare occasions when she spoke with Dumbledore.

"Now Minerva… don't think I'll be joining the Order after all this," said Slughorn with mock sternness. "Just because I put aside my Slytherin tendencies _once_… does not mean I will do so again."

"I'm counting on it."


	8. Flowers

_This one is dedicated to my Twihard father on his forty-fifth birthday. LTG._

_Against my better judgement, I was going to write you a Twilight fanfic. (I tried... I really did.) _

_You will have to content yourself with Cedric Diggory. I even included some sport for you. _

_PS. Go Team Eric!!!_

* * *

Of this, Cho Chang was certain… falling down _hurt._

Hufflepuff was not the best Quidditch team. They trained harder than the Slytherins and were certainly luckier than the Gryffindors. Theonly drawback was that they lacked talent. The obvious exception was their Captain…Captain Diggory.

Ravenclaw dominated the match from start to finish. One hour into the game and they were up by one hundred and twenty points.

And then Diggory saw the snitch.

Cho sped after him. Soon she was only a foot behind him. Just as Cedric was reaching out to gasp the golden orb, Cho flung herself off her broom and beat him to it.

Unfortunately she was fifteen feet from the ground and no longer flying. The pitch rushed up to meet her and several things (probably bones) snapped.

She woke up feeling very sore in the hospital wing with a small blue and white crowd standing around her. Madam Pomfrey, furious that yet another seeker had discovered gravity, sent Cho's admiring supporters away and insisted that she stay for at least three days.

"You broke _seventeen _bones, Miss Chang," snarled the nurse. "You're not going _anywhere_ until I say so."

Cho decided that she'd better stay on Madam Pomfrey's good side and do as she was told, just in case the nurse had any more foul-tasting potion to drink. It was easier said than done. It had finally stopped raining and slivers of sunlight spilled into the ward from the windows. Cho finished all the work her teachers had sent her and was now bored out of her recently fractured skull. Not the best day to be stuck in doors.

She had been staring out the window aimlessly when Cedric Diggory himself walked into the Hospital Wing with a bunch of flowers. He had successfully managed to charm Madam Pomfrey into letting him in. Cho looked around automatically for the girl he was visiting.

It took her a while to register the fact that she was the only person in the ward.

Cho felt her cheeks steadily turning red. Cedric grinned at her nervously. They had never spoken before this… Cho couldn't see why he bothered to bring her _flowers._

"W-What's all this?" she mumbled.

"Do you like daisies, Cho?" asked Cedric.

Cho accepted the bouquet from him. They were yellow… Hufflepuff colours but she could forgive him. She muttered her thanks, feeling uncharacteristically flustered.

"I felt a little guilty to be honest," said Cedric. "First Potter fell off his broomstick… now you."

Cho slowly felt her confidence returning. There was something about Cedric that set her at ease.

"So if Malfoy falls off his broomstick does he get flowers too?" she teased.

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

"Well… Malfoy isn't very pretty," he smirked.

The colour was practically flooding to Cho's cheeks at this point but she managed to keep her composure. She wasn't the sort of girl who giggled just because someone called her _pretty._

"That's hardly fair," she said with mock indignation. "He can't help being ugly."

"How about this?" said Cedric. "If Malfoy falls off his broom when he plays us… I'll get him flowers too."

Cho smothered her laughter in her hands. Cedric chuckled, more at the expression on her face than the idea of buying Malfoy anything remotely floral.

"I'll hold you to it," said Cho.

Madam Pomfrey suddenly cleared her throat. Cho's face fell. That woman had an uncanny ability to kick out visitors just when they were enjoying themselves.

"I'd better go," muttered Cedric. "She's giving me the evil eye."

"I'll… see you around then," said Cho, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Cedric grinned at her from the doorway.

"I'd like that."

*

Cedric asked her to come to Hogsmead with him the day after Hufflepuff played Slytherin. The expression of horror on Draco Malfoy's face when someone anonymously sent him pink chrysanthemums sprang to mind.

How could Cho say no after that?


	9. Favouritism

Severus Snape burst into the office of Minerva McGonagall, his upper lip curling.

McGonagall was not at all surprised or angered by his behaviour. Snape was _Snape... _and she was fairly certain she knew what had vexed him in this instance. She couldn't blame him. McGonagall quickly finished marking Neville Longbottom's abysmal essay, put down her quill and calmly faced her livid colleague.

"Can I help you, Severus?" she asked conversationally.

Snape, as usual, skipped the pleasantries.

"You bought Potter a broomstick?" he hissed. "A _Nimbus_?"

"I did," said McGonagall without hesitation.

"It was _completely _inappropriate!"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows and twitched her thin lips into something of a smirk.

"Are you accusing me of favouritism, Severus?"

Snape scowled at that. McGonagall knew perfectly well that Dumbledore practically ordered him to indulge the Slytherins. He couldn't very well pretend to be a servant of Lord Voldemort if he award points to every insufferable, know-it-all muggleborn that answered a question.

Of course, Granger just made it easy for him to belittle her.

"I am not... _accusing _you of anything, Professor," said Snape, taking a deep breath. "However, I do not recall you _ever _giving presents to your students."

"You're right," said McGonagall quietly. "I haven't."

Snape scrutinised McGonagall carefully. She wasn't meeting his eye.

"Why start now?" he asked.

McGonagall didn't answer immediately.

"Guilt," she said finally.

"What exactly do _you_ have to be ashamed of?" asked Snape with a note of derision.

"Many things... the least of which is leaving that boy alone on the Dursleys' doorstep," said McGonagall darkly. "Do you think Harry has ever received a present in his life?"

The question threw Snape off. He knew Petunia Dursley very well and sincerely doubted that she was capable of showing Lily's son any affection.

"Of course he has," said Snape gruffly. "He's the _Boy Who Lived._"

Only Snape could say such a glorious title with such scorn.

Snape knew what a neglected child looked like. He discretely pointed them out to Dumbledore and it was dealt with. Potter had all the telltale mannerisms and traits... but James Potter's son could only be worshipped and spoiled. It only made sense.

"I have tests to mark," he growled, forgetting that it was he who barged into McGonagall's office and not the other way around.

"Very well," said McGonagall. "Goodnight Severus."


	10. Becoming

Hermione looked in the mirror and saw a monster.

The monster stared back for what seemed like the longest time. It had a beautiful nightmare of face. Waxy and gaunt with high cheekbones and dark, lidded eyes. Long, dark hair spilled down the monster's black.

She carefully pulled heavy silk robes onto the skeletal, almost fragile body. Despite being so thin, she was taller and far more intimidating than little Hermione Granger had ever been.

She would have to hold herself differently. She would have to be just as intimidating. She straightened her shoulders and lifted up her chin but Hermione Granger looked back.

No. That wouldn't do.

_"Does it hurt?" the monster purred._

_The werewolf flinched at the monster's words and tried to look away. The monster lifted up its chin to with the point of a silver blade. A bead of crimson rolled down it's neck._

_"Does the dog want more?" the monster mocked. "Or does the dog want me to finish it?"_

_It looked frightened. Almost like a person._

_The monster knew better. It was nothing. Less than nothing. It was the filth under her nails. The air stank of it... sweat, blood and sick only worse. Standing too close made the monster feel contaminated but the hatred was too strong to leave it alone._

_Disgusting._

_The monster dragged the werewolf forward by the front of its robes like yanking a dog by its leash. It was truly repulsive how it scrambled forward and avoided her gaze at all costs._

_As if not looking at the monster would make it disappear._

When she opened eyes, Greyback was gone and the monster was staring back at her in the mirror. The silver knife was in her hand. Dark stains still marred the beautiful silver blade.

Elf blood. Not werewolf blood.

Ron knocked gently on the bathroom door, asking if she was ready. His voice called her back. She remembered who she was. Hermione Granger. Mublood. The monster disappeared again.

Hermione wondered what it would feel like to be pureblood and powerful. Just for a little while.

It wasn't just the potion that left a bitter taste in her mouth.


	11. Prejudice

_A/N: Because this would be so much more hilarious than Scorpius/Rose or Scorpius/Lily_

* * *

While the newlyweds began their first dance as a married couple, Harry went to stand between Dudley and Malfoy. Dudley barely acknowledged his presence, his mournful gaze fixed on the bride and groom. Malfoy managed to scowl.

"Beautiful day," said Harry cheerfully.

"Oh, shut up," snarled Malfoy.

"Don't be like that, Draco," grinned Harry. "We're family now."

"This is your fault. _All of it_."

Harry's grin grew even wider. Albus had wanted Scorpius to spend Christmas lunch with them and he had agreed. Harry didn't think it would have led to this but he was happy to take the credit.

"I know," he said smugly.

Dudley swallowed and finally managed to speak.

"My grandkids are going to be magic," he said thickly. "Aren't they?"

Mrs Dahlia Malfoy waved at her father as she and Scorpius danced by. Dudley forced a smile and waved back.

"They bloody well better be," growled Malfoy under his breath.

"Speaking of which, I don't see Lucius," said Harry.

To Harry's surprise, a flash of disappointment crossed Malfoy's features.

"He was too busy having an aneurism to turn up," he muttered. "I think he would have almost preferred it if Scorpius married Weasley's girl. Almost."

"You still came."

"The muggle makes him happy," he said grudgingly. "And she's not... completely ignorant of our ways."

"That muggle has a name," said Dudley coldly.

Malfoy and Dudley both glared at each other and stalked off, leaving Harry to observe the other guests. Albus and Rose were grinning at their best friend. Teddy wolf whistled at his younger cousin and Victoire was smiling beside him. Narcissa and Petunia both looked physically ill but Vernon hadn't looked more purple since Harry had received his Hogwarts letter. Andromeda Tonks smiled at her sister as she walked passed and took a seat next to Harry.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he said.

A very Bellatrix-ish smirk appeared on the older woman's face.

"Enormously."


	12. Scars

"Hi Mum," said Neville softly.

He sat down next to her bed and tried not to frown. The vacant expression he had known for so long was gone. Alice looked agitated. Restless. She rocked back and forth and shook her head repeatedly.

"What's wrong?" asked Neville automatically, completely forgetting that his mother was incapable of answering.

Alice lifted her hand to his face and lightly touched the scars that marred it. Neville immediately stiffened. The gesture was unfamiliar, worrisome and the most wonderful thing he had ever felt.

She was still distant. She was still broken beyond repair. But she cared, even if she didn't understand why or even remember him in the morning. It made him feel sickeningly hopeful and horrendously guilty. He was the one who was supposed to be looking after her, not the other way around.

"It's alright, Mum," said Neville quietly. "I'm fine. It's nothing." _Nothing compared to you._

Alice didn't seem to hear or understand. She only laid her palm across his cheek and covered up the scars. For a moment, it looked like they weren't even there. For a moment, it seemed as though Neville hadn't been tortured at all.


	13. Rebel

A/N: Dedicated to my brother from another mother, Cuddly Dragon, and my other brother from another mother, Raj.

* * *

Harry, Percy and Mr Weasley returned to the Burrow a little after midnight. The others were still awake and waiting for them to return. Mrs Weasley, her face a mask of worry, wrenched open the door.

"Well?" she asked hoarsely.

The other Weasleys seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for a response. McGonagall was there too, her mouth the thinnest of thin lines.

"They didn't press charges," said Percy quietly. "All they had was Delores Umbridge's word that I was involved."

Mrs Weasley let out a cry of relief and pulled Percy into a warm embrace. Mr Weasley sunk into the nearest chair, looking more exhausted than any of them. Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek as he shuffled inside and hugged Percy once he was free of Mrs Weasley.

"Come on, Perce," she said softly. "Mum made soup."

Percy allowed himself to be led to the kitchen bench and managed to smile weakly as Ginny pushed a steaming bowl of soup into his hands. The rest of the Weasleys (plus Harry and McGonagall) gathered around the table.

"You were... gone quite a while, Perce," said Ron hesitantly.

Percy stared into his bowl and played with the contents.

"Umbridge was rather determined to implicate me," he muttered. "If Harry didn't vouch for me... she might have succeeded."

Ginny pressed Harry's hand under the table. He shook his head, dismissing her silent thanks.

"I would have been worth at least five years off her sentence," continued Percy bitterly, "and no doubt she would have been thrilled to send a Weasley to Azkaban."

Mrs Weasley let out a low growl.

"_That evil_-"

She suddenly noticed her children smirking at her and stopped abruptly.

"... woman," finished Mrs Weasley lamely.

"We've all heard you say it now, Mum," said Ron lightly. "And I agree... she is a bitch."

"Wretched, conniving, excuse for a person," said McGonagall darkly. "None of the muggleborns working for the Ministry would have survived at all if it wasn't for Percy."

"_You_ were involved with the muggleborn underground?" asked Ron, unable to hide a hint of surprise and pride.

Half a dozen pairs of eyes were now stared at Percy.

"I... helped," he said.

"_Helped?_" repeated McGonagall incredulously. "They say you started it."

Mr Weasley allowed a small smile to form on his face.

"It's true," he said. "I didn't know at the time... but there were a dozen muggleborns at the court wanting to speak for him."

Percy refused to look at his father, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Dad..." he mumbled.

"Apparently Percy here forged family trees for muggleborns and made dozens of illegal portkeys right under the nose of the Ministry," said Mr Weasley with no small amount of pride. "He even replaced a few of the Snatcher's wand with F... George's fakes."

Many eyebrows were raised at that. The back of Percy's neck turned a brilliant shade of red.

"Rumour has it he once put a dungbomb in Delores Umbridge's purse so she had to postpone a trial," added McGonagall with a smirk, who always seemed to approve of anarchy when Delores Umbridge was involved.

Percy muttered something under his breath.

"Didn't catch that, Perce," grinned Ron.

Percy took a deep breath and spoke a little louder.

"It was a dead Kneazle, not a dungbomb."

"_Percival!_" cried George with a grin to match Ron's.

No one had seen George smile in weeks. It wasn't quite as broad as it had once been but it was genuine and infectious.

Percy couldn't help it. He grinned too.


	14. Ambition

The Dark Lord, despite his terrifying mien, had a very compelling voice. Lucius Malfoy's rich and influential pureblood guests were caught in his web almost the instant he opened his mouth.

Except one.

She was what lesser men than the Dark Lord would call beautiful. She wore studded, midnight blue dress robes that sparkled under the light of the chandelier. Her eyes (grey and heavily lidded) were quite striking. If all eyes were not on the Dark Lord, they would have been on her.

She listened intently but only clapped politely while the others roared with approval. When they toasted the cause, death and revolution she raised her glass but stood back and only took small, delicate sips while the others near drank themselves into a stupor.

The Dark Lord saw through her apparent sedateness (as he saw through all falsehoods). He found himself intrigued and made his way to the back of the room to speak to her. She bowed her head slightly in deference to him as he approached.

"You're not as eager as the others," observed Voldemort.

Her beautiful, aristocratic features were schooled into a look of indifference and, when she spoke, her voice was calm and quiet.

"A life of violence never particularly appealed to me, my Lord."

Voldemort smiled at her. The kind of smile that made grown men flinch. Her hands shook ever so slightly and she backed into the bookcase.

"I think that's a lie," he said softly. "You may act like the belle of Wizarding Society but you walk... like a duellist."

She tilted her head slightly. Pureblood women did not _shrug_.

"I keep my inner demons on a tight leash," she said as delicately as the blonde thing permanently attached to Lucius' arm that Voldemort assumed was her sister. "It would be a shame, I think... if we reinstate Pureblood society and have no one left but blood thirsty animals."

"I doubt a woman such as yourself would be in danger of that."

"You'd be surprised, my Lord."

Voldemort would have raised an eyebrow if he had one.

"Have a temper, do you?" he asked, amused.

"Family trait," she answered. "I find such things can prove... unhelpful."

Voldemort shook his head.

"We need wizards and witches like you fighting for the cause," he said smoothly. "You embody the true traits of Slytherin House. Subtlety. Cunning. Pure blood. Ambition."

"You are too kind, my Lord," she whispered.

"But ambition is worthless if you do nothing about it," he continued. "You have to _take_ what you want, Miss Black."

These words seemed to have a genuine effect on her. Her eyes widened and she didn't speak immediately.

Then her thin lips twisted slightly into a smile.

"Perhaps you're right," she said quietly.

* * *

In the dead of night, a cloaked figure slipped into a muggle neighbourhood and stopped at house with a faded red car in the driveway. The figure scanned the street and, when she found it deserted, knocked at the door. A very startled young man with a heart-shaped face opened it.

"Dromeda?" he whispered.

Andromeda Black let her hood fall to her shoulders.

"I was wrong," she said softly. "This is what I want... and it's worth fighting for."

Ted Tonks only took a moment to process what Andromeda had said. He wasted no time in pulling her into a kiss which was enthusiastically returned.

"What made you change your mind?" he murmured into her ear.

Andromeda actually flinched.

"I think you're better off not knowing, Ted."

"How bad could it be?" he frowned.

"_Trust me_," said Andromeda firmly, before closing the door behind them.


End file.
